The weather turned on us and yet not a single drop of rain has made it to camp. Most likely waiting for me to be done. There was a leak in the break line."Old Faithful". The front brake banjo bolt were the line splits was loose. Everyone knows that. Humor. One down, more was to come. My outdoor kitchen had to move into the vestibule. Stuff from the vestibule had to move in the inner tent. Spirit was fed, walked, ran, he can rest now and let me do all the work. That is his purpose in Life, of course besides his unconditional Love and being always happy. He makes me happy. More. I would be too in his shoes, "paws" meaning.

Dinner was cooking, rice and vegetables, the stove went out, the bottle running out of fuel. It happened as I was going to shut it off. Think positive and all will always fall in place just as the menacing skies which I know will not rain on us. Unless I would have not been ready, then it would have. Maybe?. All keeps me on my toes, always something to do in case anyone out there thought living and camping on the road is a piece of cake. There however is no doubt it is what keeps me in my present "feel good" shape. The "City Life" would probably see me spend a small fortune on athletic memberships with hours spend listening to music through my ear pods while hiking to nowhere on the mechanical uphill apparatuses.

It has been early to sleep and early to rise. It was cold this morning, the Desert winds did not rest all night, the flapping of the tent has become a familiar tune lately for the both of us. I still think at times when the going gets rough about this sometimes crazy Lifestyle of ours. I imagine us in a nice fully carpeted condo, warm or cool depending on the time of the year, clean clothes unlike these disfigured pants and tops of dubious colors and stains, a kitchen filled with my favorite elements, a pantry of spices freshly ground and herbs properly saved in this huge refrigerator freezer… I open my eyes, the television comes on, I look out the window and see the next buildings, cement walls, somber and austere…. Just a bad dream I tell myself, just a bad dream as another breath of pure fresh air fills up my lungs one more time and the sharp needles of cold remind me I am still alive.

They say it is easier for one to find themselves away from it all. I know it is. The distractions are filled with willingness, the flow is of an inner path blending in with the physical path I navigate on. The spaces so often deserted allows an array of expressions with no holding back as I am only the mirror of myself. I can laugh out loud, I can cry rivers of tears, I can speak my Peace with no rebuttal or arguments. I can renew my faith in of Life, this faith with sometimes too much awareness I have discovered in these past years. I can think through and come to conclusions or not, saving the thoughts for a later time as answers are never needed or demanded right then and there. There is no time frame, there are no deadlines, there are no days or dates, sometime the year itself does not matter and gets lost buried underneath it all.

Balance is achieved and yet as I previously thought such stage would remain I now understand one reaches such a level only to once again open up the tool box for the next set as none ever remains as such. Such knowledge has lately made times of easier ones. There was always in recent past the wondering of the whys aspects of harmony which suddenly would fall apart just when grasping moments of reprieve. They never fell apart, only the ground a bit slipped away, it is only always the next awaiting challenge of Life presenting itself knocking with no patience.

Morning has come again. It is even colder now. I am wearing just about everything I own besides my riding jacket which would be too bulky to move around with. Spirit is still in the tent. I think I will serve his breakfast, he can then run a bit and go back in where it is still warmer. His thick coat is on, I know he is not happy about this. Once again waiting for a package proves it wrong as we have to wait or maybe go on and camp at lower elevation and come back Tuesday to pick it up. My fingers are numb, it took what it seemed an eternity to heat water for my coffee, there is a lid on my thoughts, we need warmth. This too shall pass. It is all part of Life on the Road.

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More reasons to visit Gold Point sometime soon. I think you can derive a little insight about a person from their art. If that’s the case, I think I would really enjoy meeting you, as well as Herb Robbins, the “curator” of Gold Point.